


Good Things Come in Small Packages

by teicakes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Facials, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Macro/Micro, Manhandling, Masturbation, Mini Shiro, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Keith (Voltron), Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Shiro literally grinds up on Keith's cock at some point and idk how else to tag it, Shrinking, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teicakes/pseuds/teicakes
Summary: Shiro gets shrunken down by the same stuff that shrunk the other paladins in s7 and Keith looks after him in more ways than one. Or he does, once both of them can't hold back any longer.Basically, Sheith sex with a major size difference. Yes that's it that's the whole fic.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	Good Things Come in Small Packages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChampionShirogane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampionShirogane/gifts).



> This is entirely based off a gorgeous bit of art by @studio_mugen over on twitter that just got the horny flag flying. And seeing as the fandom could definitely use some more macro/micro stuff, you bet your ass I'm filling some of that void.
> 
> Mu's art is here, please check it out!  
> https://twitter.com/studio_mugen/status/1212910760227229698

Shiro’s always been tidy, neat, practically to a fault. It was one of those things that drove Keith up the wall when he’d first taken him under his wing, insisting he fold his clothes and make his bed and make sure he didn’t leave shirts and pants lying around the room willy-nilly. Keith’d resisted,  _ heck _ , he still never adopted Shiro’s ridiculous habit of making the bed every morning (because,  _ hey _ , he was just going to mess it up again that night), but now with a space wolf with a penchant to get into his things, he could at least appreciate the folding and tidying up parts. 

Which is why when he found Shiro’s clothes, crumpled in a heap on the floor, he knew something was up. What he didn’t realize, and what he couldn’t even begin to suspect, was what was pinned and squeaking under Kosmo’s nose. 

Shiro, naked, and the size of a doll. 

For a full ten seconds he just stands there, watching in disbelief as Kosmo pokes and chuffs at Shiro with the wet tip of his snout, Shiro trying and failing to coax him off of him.  _ It shouldn’t be possible…  _ but here he was, standing in the middle of the Atlas’s hangar, watching his wolf knock Shiro over again and again each time he tries to stand. 

When Kosmo starts licking Shiro though, tongue and teeth getting a little  _ too _ close, that’s when Keith finally finds enough functioning motor skills to intervene. 

“Kosmo, get off!” He has to shove the whining wolf behind him, Kosmo continuing to paw and chuff over his shoulder at the Shiro miniature in front of him. Same scar across his nose, same snow white hair and missing arm. And if that’s not enough, the look of relief and embarrassment is enough to confirm this is far from another of Haggar’s tricks. 

“Keith…” Shiro breathes, tiny chest glistening with doggy drool as it rises and falls. “Th-thanks. I thought Kosmo was going to eat me.”

“He’s not,” Keith glares over his shoulder. “I’m not going to let him, so don’t  _ you _ think you can eat Shiro now just because he’s small mister!” Behind him, Kosmo lets out a low whine, sulkily settling down with his snout in his paws. “I’ll feed you later, okay?” he sighs, kneeling down closer until Shiro’s right in front of his face. He’s sticky and naked, but otherwise unharmed. 

Keith rolls down a sleeve, carefully wiping off the worst of Kosmo’s drool from Shiro’s chest and face. As much as he wants to look, he tries his best not to let his eyes wander too much.

“What… happened exactly? How did you get all small?”

Shiro fidgets, tugging Keith’s sleeve down further to wipe his waist and legs. “I’m not sure exactly. One second I was helping Colleen take inventory of the flora samples she collected from our latest planetary visit, and the next I’m on the floor, covered in my clothes and a tenth my normal size. And then the next thing I know Kosmo’s there and trying to play with me like I’m one of the mice!”

“Well… you  _ are _ about their size now I guess. Any idea on what might have caused this?”

Shiro groans, still tugging a corner of Keith’s sleeve to preserve his decency. Honestly… Keith’s never seen this much of him before. Did Shiro always have that many scars on him? And were his nipples always-

“Chances are it’s related to something we gathered from that planet, but what exactly I couldn’t tell you. Maybe some carnivorous plant’s hunting strategy, or an insect’s bite, or-  _ Keith!” _

Shiro lets out an undignified yelp as Keith picks him up, carefully turning him over this way and that. Smooth skin stretching over his shoulders, a spiderweb of scars extending from the stump of his right arm, other ones striping across his belly and back like streamers falling from the sky. He’s still surprisingly solid, despite his size, and Keith finds himself turning him over between his fingers, gently stroking over his pecs and separating his thighs, looking for some kind of mark or bite. 

“ _ Keith!” _ Shiro grapples onto his thumb, face bright red. “What are you doing?”

Blood rushes quickly to his ears. It’d just been so easy, he’d done it without thinking. He could just pick Shiro up and do whatever with him. “S-sorry!” he stammers. “I was just checking for marks. Making sure there were no bites or anything on you.”

“O… Oh.” Shiro settles in his palm somewhat, and Keith’s now very aware he still has his other thumb pressed against Shiro’s bare legs. “Well… are there?”

“Nothing I can tell for sure. You’ve got a lot of scars Shiro.”

The smaller man shifts in his hands, scratching his head bashfully. “Yeah… well, I’ve got a pretty long history with fighting at this point. So, what do we do?”

Keith hums, rocking back on his heels as he looks the hanger over. As much as he wants to find the culprit that did this to Shiro, he’s not exactly eager to encounter the same fate. Especially considering they have no idea what caused this, or how to reverse it. 

Gingerly, he peels off a glove and hands it to shiro. The other takes it gratefully.“I guess we see if we can just wait this out? Maybe it’s just a temporary thing.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.” Shiro grips Keith’s fingers a little tighter as he moves to standing. “Then I guess we just try to go about things normally until then.”

“And maybe ask Colleen if anything else has mysteriously shrunk since we got back.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro grunts, tugging on Keith’s glove into a makeshift jumpsuit. “And while we’re at it, maybe we can ask around if anyone has clothes small enough for me.”

“What? You don’t like wearing my glove?” Keith playfully pokes and the expanse of open chest his glove shows.

“I’d… rather not answer that.”

* * *

Shiro does not, as Keith’d hoped, turn back within the hour. Or the afternoon. They’d spent the better part of the day holed up in his room, doing their best to ignore the whole ordeal, watching some of the more terrible action movies Lance’d brought with them from Earth. 

At least at this point Kosmo had given up on trying to lick and gum Shiro down. Keith’d managed to push him enough to one side of the bed that he could curl up with both Shiro and his tablet. Shiro was still dressed in his glove, and although the extra leg hole sticking out was a bit weird, the rest actually looked relatively okay. Not amazing, but there was something about Shiro with an oversized collar wearing something of his that Keith liked. Cute even, and that made it all the more challenging to focus on the movie, rather than the little man seated on his knee. 

Shiro’d never been unattractive, Keith’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of the two of them together, but there was something about him barely being two hands high that made him want to dote on him far more than when he was six foot two  and massively thick. Something about the way his hair looked softer, cuter now. How he seemed so much more fragile and in need of protection. 

Carefully, Keith lets his hand slip down his leg, inching closer and closer to Shiro. He stops a few inches away, judging his reaction. When Shiro doesn’t give it more than a passing glance, he moves it closer, and when he still doesn’t react to that, he closes the gap. 

Shiro’s spine is warm against Keith’s finger, his muscles calm and relaxed as he gently strokes his fingertip up and down Shiro’s back. There’s an initial pause, some hesitation that has him almost pulling back, but before he can he feels Shiro’s small form leaning into it, giving him permission to continue. 

Keith sweeps slow arcs up and down the curve of Shiro’s spine, slowly tracing out the hills and valleys of his muscles. The swell of his shoulders, the smooth taper of his waist… He works slowly, mapping it all out with touch, getting a feel for the landscape of Shiro. It’s intimate, but at the same time, deeply calming, like when he slowly loses himself in the action of playing with the soft tuffs of fur behind Kosmo’s ears. Before long Keith’s lulled himself into a semi-trance, not even really conscious of the motion of his hand, just letting himself relax further into his mattress and the film. Shiro seems similarly calm, body slowly softening with each new sweep of Keith’s finger along his torso. Honestly, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if they both just fell asleep at some point, the whole action deeply meditative, albeit, somewhat odd. 

It’s interrupted though, but the sudden loud and gorey shootout on screen. 

Keith jerks as a man’s head is blown up in a show of practical effects more horror than action, reacting in a way fully unbecoming of a paladin of Voltron. Shiro (similarly startled) tumbles off his knee, yelping and grasping at Keith’s pants as he slides down the expanse of Keith’s thigh.

The entire thing plays out in slow motion before his eyes. Shiro, realizing his destination, the look of shock on his face. The way he scrunches his eyes closed, bracing for impact, one arm wrapped around his head as the other’s still outstretched, reaching forward… 

Keith lets out a startled choke as Shiro lands hands-first into his groin. Instantly everything gets far too hot, every nerve suddenly on fire at the sudden weight of Shiro very _localized_ on a _very_ _sensitive_ area. He moves like he’s in molasses, almost pawing at the air like a drowning cat as Shiro stumbles to get up, falls over, and tries to push himself up yet again. All the while Keith can feel each and every press of a hand or knee against _that_ down there, their size difference _all the more_ apparent now than it’s ever been. 

Somehow, he manages to scoop Shiro up and drop him on the covers. Both of them red faced and panting. 

Weakly, voice straining like he’d just run a marathon, Keith pulls his knees to his chest and points at the screen. 

“You… you wanna keep watching?”

Shiro visibly gulps, ears flamably red. “Maybe… we try watching something else?”

* * *

The answer comes a day later, as they tell Coran and the other paladins what’s happened and Allura digs through her drawers with the mice for a set of clothes small enough to fit him. Shiro’s propped up on Keith’s shoulder, one hand knotted in his hair to keep from falling off, Lance and Coran ogling at him like he’s a new specimen under a slide. 

“Well, I’ll be. Seems to be almost exactly the same symptoms as what happened to us when we were searching for Faunatonium.”

“You mean when that weird turtle thing farted shrink spray all over us?” Lance frowns.

“Farted… shrink spray?”

“Yeah,” Pidge rolls her eyes from Allura’s bed. “You missed out Keith. Lance freaked out some wildlife and we all had to pay for it. Got to ride a Yalmor and everything.”

“I did not!”

“You did,” sighs Romelle, “and no Keith, you didn’t miss much. It was probably for the best you both stayed back. Not that Shiro really had an option in that, being unconscious and all.”

“... thanks?” he says, shuffling closer to Keith’s neck as Coran reaches out to prod at him. 

“Yes, I think it is like that time. After all, we did make a stop in the Dalterian belt not so long ago for supplies. Though it does seem as though the level it happened on is at a completely different scale. Shiro, how do your molecules feel?”

“Uh… okay? For as much as I can tell that is. Though I don’t remember coming into contact with any… spraying turtle recently.”

Coran nods, stroking his moustache. “In that case, maybe you were exposed to some residual pollen from one of those creatures. Perhaps on an item we took in. It  _ could _ explain why you seem to be much larger than we were when we were exposed to it, along with-”

“The reason why his clothes didn’t seem to shrink with him?”

Both Lance and Romelle suppress a chuckle. Shiro tugs the collar of Keith’s glove further up on him, trying to cover as much as he can. 

“Yes. That too. Speaking of, how’s the clothing hunting going princess?”

“Not great, I’m afraid,” Allura says, looking up from a massive shoebox of tiny outfits. “Everything is either too small, or well…” she holds up a tiny ballgown, “a bit too frilly for Shiro. We might have to make do with odds and ends until the mice and I can make something better for him.”

“I’d be down for Shiro in a ballgown.”

“Lance, quit it.” Keith slides a protective hand around him, pressing Shiro closer into the warmth of his neck. “You wouldn’t find this funny if it was you.”

“Well, I know  _ I _ would,” Pidge grins.

“This dress  _ would _ bring out your eyes.” Allura waves it in front of Lance’s face with a mischievous twinkle. “Perhaps I should make a larger version, just to-”

“ _ NOPE. NOPE. I’m good!”  _ Lance dodges the thing as Allura continues to try and foist it onto him, Pidge and Romelle quickly joining in. Shiro can only watch, dazed and confused as the room erupts into chaos around them.

“So… Coran,” Keith clears his throat. “About how you managed to fix this last time. What do we do?”

Shiro snaps back to attention just as Coran does, holding onto Keith’s fingertip just a bit tighter. 

“Well, the good news is we know exactly what we need, Faunatonium. We also know where to go to get some. But-”

“There’s bad news.” Shiro’s shoulders sag.

Coran nods. “On our current timelines, we can’t afford to have the Atlas backtrack to retrieve some. We could send a smaller ship back to do so-”

“Well then, what are we waiting for? I can take Shiro and Black and-”

“No, you can’t.” Allura steps forwards, handing Shiro a set of miniature leggings and a long sleeved shirt. “You’re needed here, in case we need to form Voltron. And Shiro. The Atlas only responds to him. If we’re in a crisis he’s the only one able to help her transform. Right now, the only responsible course of action we can take is to wait it out until another scouting group can retrieve a sample of faunatonium.”

Shiro can feel the muscle’s in Keith’s neck tense beneath him. For a second he thinks he might lash out, but Keith only sighs, wind deflating from his sails. 

“How long?”

“If I leave in a ship today… three weeks. We’d meet up at our next refueling stop, just beyond the Housdorf system.”

Keith lets out another sigh, fingers curling closer around him. “Shiro… what do you think?”

He gazes up at Allura and Coran, both glancing nervously between the two of them.  _ Three weeks… _ a long time. But compared to being stuck like this permanently…

“If you’re sure, then you’ve got my blessing to move forwards. I can contact people immediately to go with you Coran. Maybe Matt, or Axca.”

Coran nods, weak smile just peeking out from below his bushy moustache. “I’ll reach out to them immediately.

* * *

The first week passes… surprisingly easily. Not all of it comes naturally though. There’s a decent amount of work at the start, working with Pidge and Matt (remotely) to rig up a way to keep Shiro’s smallness under wraps from the rest of the crew. As far as anyone else knows, he’s out with Matt on a covert diplomatic mission, negotiating for a new alliance to help with the next stages of their plans. Of course, that means faking in video calls every morning, rerouting communications back and forth between satellites, and an all-out network of tech mumbo jumbo Keith doesn’t care about. He’d tried once, asking Pidge why she was getting so particular about camera lenses and green screens, only to be bombarded with so many explanations of focal lengths and depth perception and Kinkade he’d decided right then and there it wasn’t worth it. 

The rest of his days are spent more or less as usual though, just with the addition of Shiro everywhere in his routine. Lunch? Shared with Shiro and the paladins slightly away from the rest of the crew. Sparring? Done with Shiro on the sidelines (or in one mishap, in his pocket). Mornings, nights, he’s got Shiro with him, safely stowed in a pocket or perched beside his neck in his collar, ready to duck down with a moment’s notice. 

It’s silly, he knows he’s being more than a little paranoid, always making sure Shiro’s safe with him, but after that one morning where Shiro narrowly missed an untimely demise under Iverson’s more than generous ass, and that other time he’d nearly been sucked halfway down the drain, well… he’s being careful. Not… overprotective per say, just… careful. Sometimes he felt a little guilty about it, wondered if Shiro was growing tired of his never ending presence, but he’d never been given so much as a sign Shiro felt that way. 

Which made it all the more hard for Keith, standing in the shower, shampoo in hand, trying his hardest not to let his eyes stray to the bowl on the shelf just below eye level. 

The bowl where Shiro, with a scrap of washcloth, was bathing. 

After the first (and last) showering incident, they’d decided pretty fast it was best for Keith to be somewhere nearby when Shiro cleaned up, just in case. And it didn’t take much more beyond that for them to figure out they could save time if he washed up at the same time too. Which led into this, Keith naked, soap dripping into his eyes, trying his damndest not to stare at Shiro’s naked form bathing. 

Shiro’s  _ very nice _ , barely submerged form, shining with shampoo and water as he tries to scrub dirt from his elbows. 

Keith holds back a grunt and forces himself to turn around as he lathers up his hair. 

It’s not like he hasn’t voiced his feelings to Shiro before. He  _ had _ confessed them, right in the heat of battle, tacking on that terrible “like a brother” bit as the weight of the preceding words hit him hard. It’d been enough to snap the clone out of it, but Shiro…  _ his Shiro…  _ did he remember?

Really… there were two possibilities. Either he did, and he wasn’t saying anything about it (for reasons Keith doesn’t think he’s willing to ask for), or he’s got no memory, leaving the ball once again in Keith’s clammy, fumbling hands, probably going to drop it as soon as he makes a second, more cringe worthy attempt. 

_ He could face an army, a commander, an ancient superpowered dictator of an alien civilization, but he couldn’t face his feelings in front of the guy he loves. Typical. _

But this week, this whole ordeal… he’s been closer with Shiro than it feels like they’ve been in months. They’ve talked about things, benign and serious. They’ve fallen back into old jokes and teasing rhythms, jabs of ‘old timer’ and ‘wise guy’ peppered in with newer, more creative ones. Even touches… 

Keith has to admit, he’s guilty of more than his fair share of initiating them as of late. It’s just… so easy like this, Shiro this size. The normal barrier that’s usually there, the twelve inch divide between Shiro’s shoulder and his… it’s like it’s gone now, the older, taller man… the one he’s looked up towards for so long… smaller, in the palm of his hand. He finds himself reaching out more and more, just resting a hand or finger against him, just to feel his warmth and the small, delicate beating of his heart. Sometimes he catches himself trailing slow, meandering lines up and across his frame, completely unaware of when he’d started. It’s intimacy… but in a way that feels safe, untethered, no consequences or missteps waiting in the wings to trip him up. With Shiro this size, it just feels like the natural thing to do, and it’s not until times like these, where the thought of reaching out  _ now… _ helping Shiro clean  _ there _ hits him that he realizes he needs to stop. 

He can’t let himself get too carried away in this escape. Because as soon as Shiro’s back to normal, he has to get used to that distance again. Unless he confesses once more, and risks breaking this twilight they’re in right now, floating somewhere between reality and fantasy.

_ That _ ’s something he’s not strong enough to do. Not now. 

_ Later… _ he resolves.  _ Later, when Shiro’s back to normal, he’ll bring it up once more.  _ At worst… at worst it’ll just be more distance than they’d already had. And at best…

Keith tries not to think about that, especially with Shiro peering over at him, chest flushed with heat, asking if he’d be able to hand him a drop of conditioner. 

* * *

Shiro’s dying. 

He loves Keith. He really does. He’s doing so much, looking after him, housing him, protecting him, keeping his condition under wraps… He’s been doing more for Shiro in the past two weeks than it feels like anyone’s done for him in years. Honestly… the first night, when he’d taken the time to sneak down to the kitchens and make a batch of the same camping stew they’d make together, all those years ago back at the garrison, it almost made him cry. 

Which is why it makes it all the harder to deal with this. 

Keith’s sweet. Keith’s attentive. He’s been nothing but comforting and companionship through every day of this ordeal. 

_ But does he have to be this attentive? _

Shiro knows he had a few horny teenage years. There were several months in his early twenties where he enjoyed nothing more than meeting other guys and fooling around every Friday and Saturday night. But he’d figured he’d outgrown that, mellowed with age. 

He had, as it turned out,  _ not _ . 

Every time Keith touched him, every time he picked him up, or brought him close to his face, pressed him gently to his chest Shiro  _ felt it _ . He felt it  _ bad.  _ Keith’s touch was like erotic poison ivy, spreading hot flush across his body as it slowly narrowed in on its target. He knows Keith doesn’t mean anything by it, isn’t being anything more than the good guy he is, but  _ that makes it worse.  _

It makes it so much worse, because it means he’s suffering alone. And since he’s always by Keith’s side, it means there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Keith, even if he isn’t actively trying to, never fully gives him a moment of peace to himself, even when they’re both apart in the same room, Shiro on the bed as Keith rests on the floor, feet propped up on the wall as he reads a book. As much as he might be tempted to try, he can’t do that, and even at night, as Keith sleeps deeply, Shiro lying beside him, he doesn’t have the heart to reach down and work these pent up feelings out. 

Not in front of Keith. 

It also definitely, totally, does not have anything to do with the fact that Shiro knows he’s damn loud, and no matter the circumstance, or how important quiet is, he knows he’ll give himself away before he ever reaches what he needs. 

So for now he just has to ride it out, pretend he isn’t thinking about Keith’s hands wandering lower, finger stroking closer and closer to  _ there.  _ He has to act like that Keith nuzzling him in his sleep does nothing to him, the way that he’ll unconsciously start stroking his hair or neck is nothing more than their usual platonic touch. He has to pretend this all doesn’t have another meaning, one that has to do with those three words and the way his heart still skips a beat at the memory of it, and ride it out. 

Ride it out like his life depends on it. 

* * *

“Oh  _ god… Hunk…” _

Shiro lets out a noise that’s part moan, part prayer as the yellow paladin sets down a steaming dish of lemon pudding on the table. The smell coming off it’s intoxicating, summer and home and all things good and comforting that has his stomach grumbling, even with his dinner still half finished in front of him. 

“I found some citrus-like fruits in our last load of groceries and, well,” Hunk smiles, setting down a massive bowl of whipped cream next to it. “I figured why not go all out.”

“Oh heck yeah!” Lance shoves aside his plate, pulling the dish over and spooning hot, curdy goodness into a bowl. “It’s been ages since I’ve had something like this. I can’t wait to-”

“Finish your meal?” Allura teases, pulling the bowl away from Lance and pushing his plate of abandoned broccoli back towards him. “Your sister and I  _ did _ promise your parents you’d be well looked after. Nutrition is one component of that.”

The entire table suppresses snickers at the way Lance’s face falls as he begrudgingly takes a bite of broccoli from the forkful offered to him. Shiro’s bumped playfully by Keith, the larger paladin gesturing at both their unfinished mounds of peas (though Keith’s admitly was  _ far  _ more substantial than Shiro’s).

“Best we don’t get in trouble,” he winks, tucking in, then, right before Shiro’s eyes, drops a spoonful of peas and gravy over the table’s edge. Shiro can just make out the snuffling sounds of Kosmo lapping up the spill as soon as it hits the ground. 

“Cheater,” he teases back, throwing an egg-sized (to him) pea back at Keith. Keith’s response is of course to flick a fork-tip of gravy back at him, all the while the two of them trying to downplay it enough the others don’t catch on. In almost no time Keith’s  _ subtly _ either discarded peas onto Shiro’s plate, or chucked them over the edge for his waiting wolf, happily pulling the pudding and whipped cream over to himself. 

Blocked by the bowl, Shiro easily drills up the nerve to grab the final few gravy soaked peas Keith’d slapped on his plate and cheekily, and sneakily, start moving them back onto Keith’s. He makes it easily to the lip, crouched over, Keith blissfully unaware as he slices into the hot pudding and starts building up the perfect ladel full. Shiro glances over, catching eyes with two startlingly yellow ones peeping out from below the table top, ears pert and alert.

“Don’t blow this for me,” he mouths at Kosmo, juggling the dripping balls in both hands. The wolf’s eyes follow them both, snout now rising up over the table, nose sniffing hungrily towards Shiro. 

Of course, Kosmo blows it for him. 

With a bark and a lunge, the wolf jumps up onto the table, aiming to swipe the gravy-soaked vegetables from him just like every other morsel Keith’d just fed him. Shiro yells, stumbling backwards as he drops the peas, trying to get as far away as possible from those sharp teeth and furry face. And of course, stumbling backwards, there’s no way he’s looking behind him, or noticing the lip of the bowl at perfect tripping height until it’s already too late. 

With a cry and a splat, Shiro’s engulfed in a mound of whipping cream. It’s like full-fat quicksand, slowing his fall but offering little resistance as he tumbles fully into it, the light of day rapidly dissolving into soft, white peaks. Everything’s suddenly muffled as his head’s enveloped, sound fading away, only the distant commotion of Keith yelling and cutlery making it through as he struggles to dig himself out. He feels a finger, and another, before something entirely  _ other _ makes contact with him. 

A tongue. 

Not just any tongue. Hot, wet, lapping right into the nooks and cracks of his body, scraping whipped cream off him and leaving a warm, sticky film of remnant on him. He can hear Keith yelling, still faint, but louder now, feel those fingers continue to fumble in the bowl to get hold of him, all while that tongue licks, nose pressing into his chest. The next lap, it tugs up his shirt, saliva and rough tastebuds rubbing over his bare skin. The next, it drags it up even further, and by the one after that Shiro’s eyes are fluttering closed, body hot with feeling as fantasy takes over. 

Keith, holding him down, fingers running over his sides. Keith, eyes hooded, voice dark and husky as he bends down, nose bumping Shiro’s collar bone as his mouth opens and hot breath ghosts over the entirety of his middle.  _ Then the heat… _ that hot, rush of heat as he drags his tongue over him, laving between his legs, trailing up his chest, making his way up, up to his nipples and-

Shiro lets out a cry as the tongue swipes up against the underside of his pecs, just as fingers find his legs and pull. He’s tugged out, all the while the tongue chasing him, body slicked with thick white residue, great gobs of it falling off and freeing his vision. He gets a glimpse of the tabletop, a blur of a dark snout and then his vision’s dark again, a great pink tongue flicking out and slobbering across the entirety of his face and head. There’s a yell, a shout of  _ “Kosmo, no!” _ and then it’s bright again, Shiro alive and awake and hanging upside down some several body lengths above the table. As he sputters and wipes the worst of the cream from his eyes he catches Keith’s shocked face, looking at him in something akin to horror and disbelief. Below him, Kosmo sits, front paws perched on the table, a thick white beard of  _ something _ around his chops. 

“Shiro! Are you okay?!” He’s spun around altogether far too fast, Keith’s grip still strong and unyielding on his waist as he spins him right side up. A napkin enters his field of vision in a flash, Keith licking the tip before moving to scrub his face clean. Guiltily, Shiro can’t help but remember the fantasy from a few seconds earlier, and the secondhand transfer of spit from Keith to him. His face burns bright red. 

“I’m so sorry. He’s never usually like this, I know he likes meat sauces and cheese but I had no idea he’d go for you, let alone the whipping cream. This’s never happened before, I don’t know what came over him. I hope he didn’t do anything too rough with you Shiro are you okay?” 

Keith continues to babble, dipping his napkin in and out of his waterglass as he continues to try and scrub Shiro off. He’d be lying if he said the feeling doesn’t remind him of the sensation of Kosmo’s tongue on him, albeit colder now that it was before. It’s a shock to his system, one that has him bristling with each new swipe and pass of the cloth over him as Keith works himself further and further down his body, cleaning up the worst of the mess. 

It’s only then that Shiro realizes Keith still has a thumb holding him down by his hips, pinning him to Keith’s palm as he works. And as soon as he notices that, there’s no way he isn’t able to notice the other thing going on there. 

He’s hard. Painfully, and insufferably hard. 

Right in Keith’s hand. 

He swallows as Keith’s cleaning moves lower, now swiping over his belly instead of just his shoulders. He’s certain that if Keith moves any further, starts juggling him in his palm he’s going to notice what’s going on in his pants, either by sight or by touching it, neither of which he wants to happen at the middle of the dinner table. 

“Keith!” He just manages to grab Keith’s fingers as the move to clean against his waistband, stopping the paladin there where he wipes. Shocking midnight-blue eyes meet his and Shiro’s voice falters for a second. 

“Shiro, is everything okay?” Keith’s voice is worried, Shiro can tell he’s just an impulse away from checking his body for broken bones. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no…” he stammers, still trying to push Keith’s other hand off him. “I just… I really feel like I need to clean up now, and properly. Can we just…” his tongue swipes out, licking his lips and catching a trace of the creamy film left on his skin. A jolt inside him reminds him that Keith’d licked his napkin and wiped there only seconds before, his blood pumping even faster now. “... can we go back to your room and clean up?”

Keith frowns, but says nothing, slowly rising from the table as he wraps Shiro in a dry napkin. They both say their apologies to the others, Keith scolds Kosmo, and they take their leave. The entire time they travel in silence, Shiro desperately willing his boner to quiet down before Keith has him strip.

* * *

Somehow he makes it through bathing without Keith noticing anything. 

He makes it through that evening, watching movies and letting Keith gently pet his spine. 

Somehow, he even makes it through Kosmo’s ashamed return, pressed tight against Keith’s chest and held securely in his hands as Keith chides the wolf yet again for what he’d done. 

He makes it through everything, right up until he needs to sleep. Right up until he’s curled up on Keith’s pillow, handkerchief over him, and Keith sleepily curls a protective hand around him to cup him gently. At first Shiro thinks he’s awake, that Keith has something to say, but there’s only a sleepy murmur, the shuffle of Keith’s hair against the pillowcase, and the softest breathing of  _ ‘goodnight’ _ before Keith’s breathing slows. 

Shiro’s left lying there, feeling the warm breeze of Keith’s breathing against his front, the loose curl of his knuckles against his back, stroking slowly through the molasses of sleep. He’s hyper aware of everything. The shadows of each individual eyelash on his cheeks, the faintest spotting of freckles on Keith’s nose, the gentle arch and curve of Keith’s barely parted lips. It’s all so innocent, so relaxed, and yet it has Shiro’s entire body poised and alert. 

He can’t stop staring at him, tracing over his features, looking at every small detail he took for granted that makes Keith Keith. But now, at this size he could. At this size, he could take in the full galaxy of complexity that he was, every characteristic, every last star that was a part of him. 

Which only made his heart beat faster. 

Shiro watches, mouth open, eyes wide as Keith shifts, soft lips smacking together as he settles more, followed by the barest trace of his tongue swiping across them. 

At his normal size, he never would have noticed. But now, like this, he can’t unsee, let alone look away. 

The events of today surge back to him. The cream fiasco. The tongue and the hands and the napkin and the closer than close call. The way Keith peeled item after item of clothing off his body as he filled the sink with warm water, and the hand that helped guide him in after. The same hands that tried to help wash him, that rubbed soap into his hair, that traced burning touches into his skin and slid over his arms and legs, looking for damage. The rough toweling that followed, the fabric rubbing over his prickling chest, catching between his thighs and the warmth of the pocket he slipped into after. 

Somehow, with mind over matter he’d survived all that, but now, inches from Keith, alone in wakefulness, it all comes back full force. 

Now he can’t stop thinking of an alternate timeline, one similar, but drastically different. One where it wasn’t Kosmo lapping at him, but Keith. One where Keith’s actions are slow, ministrating as his tongue wanders over Shiro’s body, purposely dipping down against his navel and between his thighs. Of that same Keith continuing to lick and suck as he removes his shirt, lapping at every new swath of skin he exposes until Shiro’s the only thing he can taste, the cream nothing but a distant memory on his tongue. He groans, hand fisting into his blanket as he pictures Keith working slowly, peeling down his waistband, tongue slipping further than his fingers as he coyly eases Shiro’s pants off his hips. Of that same tongue sliding between his legs, forcing them apart, propping him up against it as Keith ruts it against his groin reaching front to back. 

Shiro sucks in a breath at the thought of it, a small tent poking up out of his bundle of blankets. He’s hard, and painfully so. A mix of two weeks of slow boiling and the sudden shot of adrenaline from today has reduced his need from weak, passable lust to concentrated ambrosia.

Slowly, he reaches his hand down under the covers, letting it ghost over his nightgown clad body and dip down between his legs. Even without touching it, he knows how hard and close he is.

_ He shouldn’t… he really shouldn’t… _

But Keith’s asleep, after all. 

Carefully, Shiro takes himself in hand, fighting back the groan of relief at the familiar feeling of a warm fist around his cock. He strokes it, slowly at first, then building faster, letting himself slip back into the fantasy world he’s concocted himself. 

There, it’s not his fist around his dick, but the press of Keith’s finger, grinding it hard against his belly and making him moan and beg. It’s the constant feeling of Keith’s fingers on him, his tongue, the sheer helplessness and gentleness of it all as he’s flipped slowly onto his hands and knees, Keith’s hands and fingers never giving him a moments respite. That hot, wet tongue lapping at his neck as Keith holds him there with only two fingers, the third grinding into his groin with wild abandon. He’s already on the verge combusting as is, but that hot blanket of Keith’s mouth is wandering lower, moving closer and closer to Shiro’s hips and he can almost  _ feel it before it happens.  _

He lets out a long, low moan as dream Keith’s tongue ruts up between his cheeks, only the tip able to burrow far enough to graze his hole. Instantly Shiro’s fingers are there instead, smeared with precome but far from slick, leaving him teasing the pucker of his entrance just like Keith. 

He manages a fingertip, but not much else, rolling over, grinding his hips against the pillow and dragging his cock against the thick weave of the fabric as he continues to toy with his ass, teasing and playing with it as much as he can. He can picture Keith acting much the same, unable to get more than the barest tip of part of him inside Shiro, only  _ starting _ to graze the entrance to the place where Shiro so desperately needs him now. He forces his finger in to the second knuckle, wiggling it erratically, but still it’s not enough. He needs more. He needs Keith’s spit, slicking him open with stroke after stroke of his tongue as he opens himself on his fingers. He needs the heat of Keith’s breath, rustling his hair and bathing him in warmth. He needs Keith, cock in hand, other holding him down, grinding against him, pressing the hard hot weight of his cock against his back, letting him beg and whine for something he knows he can’t have and yet desperately needs. 

He wants it all,  _ needs it _ , he’s ready to beg for it, to let his voice leave him breathy and broken, gasping for Keith to take him, use him, open him up and do with him what he will. To play with him and make him feel so good stars appear behind his eyelids, make the heat pooling in his belly condense, settle into a molten ball of flames low in his hips and stoke him all the more readily, until his entire body’s alight. Until it feels like he could burst from the way Keith’s touches burn against his skin. For that heat to reach its breaking point and  _ come _ , burst out of him in an eruption that has his whole body quaking in aftershocks. 

Its to that image that Shiro comes, the thought of being pinned by Keith’s cock, spasming around his finger, his own release splashing over his belly with the image of Keith’s load spilling over him, pouring in streams down his back, pooling and sticking to every inch of him as Keith takes him in his hands and licks him clean once more. 

It’s short and sweet, his orgasm, leaving him in a rush that has him dizzy and panting into the pillow. He can feel the damp spot spreading beneath his softening cock, can already imagine how he’ll have to hide this tomorrow morning before Keith finds out, but right now all he feels is the guilty pleasure of an orgasm stolen before Keith’s sleeping form. 

Panting, Shiro rolls over, wiping the worst of his come away with the hem of his shirt, trying to find a better position to settle in, eyelids already fluttering low, moving to take one last guilty glimpse of peaceful Keith before he drifts off to sleep. He loves the way Keith’s bangs cascade across his face, loves to watch his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks in REM sleep.

Except right now they aren’t. They’re up, almost touching his eyebrows, as Keith stares directly at him. 

Shiro’s heart stops. 

This is still a fantasy. This is him, already asleep and dreaming about Keith looking at him. There’s no way this is real, no way that Keith is goggling at him, eyes wide, face stunned as he pretends he hadn’t just found release seconds ago. Because that would mean Keith’d seen everything, and that’s something Shiro’s not sure he’s ready to deal with right now.

And maybe it’s not the best decision, but in the moment Shiro goes with the one choice that saves him the immediate embarrassment of  _ that _ talk. He feigns sleep. 

Eyes closed, he can feel Keith stirring now, the pillow under him moving as the larger man readjusts. He’s not sure just what Keith is up to right now, but he’s not about to risk cracking an eye. 

“... Shiro?” The warmth and weight of a hand comes to rest inches from him, hesitant to bridge the gap. Shiro feigns sleep more, letting himself roll and shift loosely with the sudden change of his mattress’s landscape. The hand rests there for what feels like hours, just out of reach, waiting, until finally… finally it retracts, the only trace of its presence the lingering warmth that remains.

“Shiro?” Quieter this time, more to Keith than himself. He can feel the entire mattress move, feel Keith roll over onto his back, almost  _ see _ Keith now, staring up at the ceiling, deciding what to do next. It might take time, but he knows as much as Keith that at this point, the only real option is to wait until the morning. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll both convince themselves this was all a dream. 

Shiro waits, forcing his breathing to stay even and low. Beside him Keith is quiet, only the occasional sound of blankets rustling or steady breathing filling the night. Probably contemplating whatever it was he’d seen. Shiro half hopes it was nothing but the end, that some noise he’d made as he’d come had woken him up, and all he’d seen was him readjusting himself. Another part though… another part wonders just what Keith’d think if he’d seen more. If he’d figured out what that hunched form under the covers had been, seen a glimpse of things as the sheet slipped down his body as he’d worked himself to the brink. If he’d be disgusted, or…

“ _.... Shiro…” _

His entire body freezes stock still as Keith’s voice fills the night. Breathy, uncertain, so quiet it’s almost lost in the sound of his exhale. He lies there, ears burning, waiting for more, but no more words come. Not that he needs them though. 

Shiro knows that short, clipped breathing. He knows those little jerks and twitches against the pillow. He knows those other noises, the quiet, rhythmic rustle of fabric someplace else. He knows the sounds coming feet from him, so close and yet so far away, burning into his ears as Keith continues to make them. 

Because he’s made them, only moments ago. 

All pretense of sleep is gone, Shiro squinting out into the darkness at Keith. The other’s head is tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted as little breathy sounds leave him, short and suppressed with every twitch and jerk of his body. Lower down, under the cloak of his blankets there’s clear movement, a pumping of Keith’s fist beneath the covers, causing a tent at his hips to rise and fall. 

Shiro can’t believe what he’s seeing. Keith, jerking himself off. Keith, masturbating after only moments ago either catching or not catching him having done it to, having uttered only one word that takes all guesswork out of the  _ what _ and  _ why _ he continues to pleasure himself with Shiro at arm’s reach. And because of it, Shiro’s emboldened to do what he does next. 

Silent as a ghost he moves, sliding down the edge of the pillow and onto the sheets. All the while he watches Keith, gaze fixed on that flushed and wanting face, looking for the first sign of those brilliant violet eyes cracking open once more. They don’t, even as he feet touch mattress, not even as he eases up the edge of the duvet and slips under. 

Slowly, carefully, Shiro creeps down the length of the bed on hands and knees, ears tuned to Keith and Keith alone. Every shake and gasp spurs him on, every clipped  _ “Shi- _ ” that’s quickly swallowed back. As he approaches Keith’s middle, the faint outline of his shirt rucked up around his waist, he finally catches sight of it.

Keith’s cock. Something he’d only glimpsed at in the past weeks, but now, staring at it proper, watching Keith work it to a ruddy flush in his fist, he can’t look away from. From up above him he can hear Keith fight back another moan, and the sharp inhale of breath that suggests he’s getting closer. 

“ _ Sh… Shiro…” _ he gasps again, fingers tightening around his shaft, hips bucking up into his hand as he starts to come undone. Keith’s voice surges through him, setting all of Shiro’s body buzzing. Keith’s wanting, needy,  _ desperate _ … and he’s all too willing to give.

Shiro plants a hand on the curve of Keith’s hipbone, the other twisting into the fabric of his waistband. He knows immediately that Keith’s felt him, his hand faltering, noise of surprise squeaking out from him. Of course Keith would notice, but all that means is he needs to work faster now. Shiro drags himself up onto Keith’s belly even as it starts to move, grip on his cock loosening. Blankets buffet him as he crawls forwards, the back of Keith’s palm flinching away from him as his hair brushes against it. 

Keith’s cock is fully uncovered now, silhouette towering in front of him from where it juts proudly from a nest of dark, neatly cropped curls. Probably average if he was normal sized, but right now, small as he is, it’s a monster, easily taller than his hip, bobbing up and down as Keith squirms. Shiro reaches out, on the verge of touching it, already feeling a faint trace of the heat it radiates, when the covers are ripped off him and dull light floods over himself and it.

“ _ Shiro!” _

He spins around before he can even really see it, stumbling on Keith’s stomach and falling down on his ass in Keith’s treasure trail. The hairs tickle his bare legs, something warm and weighty supporting his back as he looks guiltily at Keith.

His best friend’s face is pink, flushed with heat and embarrassment, a look of pure mortification splashed across it plain to see. That same hand that’d been wrapped around his cock is now clapped over his mouth. 

“I… Shiro… It’s not what it looks like! I… I thought you were asleep!” Keith stammers desperately, ears turning the cutest shade of beet red. _ Fuck… how had he never noticed all of Keith’s reactions this way before? _ “I… I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have… I was just…  _ what are you- _ ”

Shiro stops midway through looking up, arm raised as he looks up at what’s casting a shadow over him. The soft glow of the night lighting shines barest purple, illuminating the gentle sloping of Keith’s shaft. Just in reach of his crown is the head, the beveled details of it bleeding seamlessly into the warm trunk more and more of his weight rests on. The angle’s not great, but even from here he can plainly see how Keith’s uncut, how aroused he still is with so much of the skin pulled down, revealing the flushed, glistening end he swears is bigger than his own head right now.  _ It’s right there. In reach. He could just touch it, all he has to do is reach out a hand just a bit further and- _

He’s jostled as Keith’s hips buck up as his palm makes contact with Keith’s dick. He’s cautious at first, lightly stroking circles into the velvety skin, but as he feels Keith’s body continue to tremble under him he feels emboldened, wanting more. A glance back at Keith’s face reveals wide eyes, fingers that have slid up to hide his mouth and nose as indecipherable noises leave them.

“Sh-shiro… what are you doing…” Keith’s voice is hotter than he’s ever heard it, a perfect mix of breathy and raw and withheld. “Shiro… you don’t… please… We can just pretend this didn’t happen. We can-”

“But do you?”

Keith’s entire body jerks with sharp inhale, rocking Shiro up further against his still-hard cock and leading to a further buck of Keith’s hips. 

“D-do I?” he stammers, answer plain as day on his face. Shiro fights to steady himself, hugging tighter to Keith’s cock, subtly spreading his legs as he continues to lightly massage Keith’s most sensitive parts

“Do you want me to stop? To pretend this isn’t happening?” He makes to stand but his footing slips, forcing him to flat out grapple onto Keith’s cock to avoid falling down face first. His composure falters, fingers digging into Keith’s skin as he struggles to pull himself up, and for one blissful second his cock catches against Keith’s, rubbing the fabric of his shirt between them both. 

Dual gasps fill the room, both of them staring wide eyed at the other. 

“Did… did you just?”

It’s Shiro’s turn for flush to fill his ears and spread further south, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he gets it back under control. 

“I… do you want this?!” He repeats, far less control in his voice now. “B-because I’m willing… if you are… Heck, I think I’ve been for the better part of a week I-” Maybe he misjudged, maybe he’s entirely wrong, or made the wrong move or…

Keith’s dick twitches in his grasp, a single, fat drop of pre drips onto his neck and shoulder. 

_ “Fuck…” _

Hands are on him in seconds, pulling him away from Keith’s steadily leaking cock and up into the air. He flails, trying to free himself, only to stop with a sharp gasp as two fingers slide between his thighs, parting them and forcing Shiro to expose himself as Keith pushes up the hem of his shirt. 

He’s completely, inevitably powerless like this, and it’s making him harder by the second. 

Keith’s fingers separate, forcing him to spread himself further and let himself be put on full display. His dripping cock, his messy taint and stomach, still dirty from his previous exploits, his hole… pink and desperate for attention. It’s Shiro’s turn to swallow nervously, staring up at Keith’s unreadable expression, every second ticking by only making him hotter.

The fingers leave his legs suddenly, letting them fall back together as Shiro lets out a little gasp, only to be followed by a second as they come back, pinching his shirt and tugging it off him in a single, unfightable swoop. Naked and aroused, Shiro can only watch as Keith’s fingers return to trace over his skin, only this time, its with far more purpose. 

A fingertip digs into the meat of his chest, rubbing and rolling Shiro’s nipple against the firm callus and making him writhe and moan. He feels himself slipping, ass sliding out of Keith’s palm, and its only thanks to deft fingers quickly hooking under his armpits that he manages to keep from tumbling down onto Keith’s belly below. His tits have always been sensitive, something his previous partners often overlooked, but not Keith. He feels his entire body growing warmer, blood rushing into his nipples as Keith continues to toy with them with a knowing roughness that has Shiro’s cock at full-mast before he knows it. 

_“Holy shit… Shiro..._ ” Keith stops, cheeks pink and breathing shallow. He looks like he’d just surfaced for air, as if he’d just realized what he’d been doing, just like all those other times he’d touched Shiro’s body on instinct alone before. “I… I’m sorry! It just happened... Seeing you wrapped onto my cock, watching it drip onto you…” his finger reaches out again, sweeping another blood boiling arc over his tits and making Shiro shudder. “Are… are you sure about this Shiro? Cause I’m… well… I’d be lying if I haven’t thought about _some things_ all these weeks. A lot of things, actually… I… uh…” he swallows, forefinger trailing down to grind against Shiro’s painfully hard cock, pressing it up against his belly. 

“If you tell me yes I’m not sure how fast I’ll be able to stop, so… so you have to tell me now.” Keith’s gaze has turned scalding, Shiro’s not sure he can look away, even if he tried. His entire body’s hot, cock and balls screaming for more. “Shiro… are you sure you want this?”

Shiro’s body gives the only response it can, legs spreading, hips canting up into Keith’s touch as he all but begs for Keith to take control of his tiny body. 

“Do it.”

He has only seconds to grab on for purchase before Keith’s grip tightens, world blurring out around him as he’s handled through the air. For a moment he doesn’t know up from down, right from left, only the hot grip of Keith’s fingers around him. A moment later, he doesn’t even care. 

Hot, wet, heat wraps around the entirety of his groin as Keith’s mouth makes contact with his taint. Keith’s lips wrap around his front and back, making Shiro moan and spread his legs wantonly, holding his knees up and out of the way to give him more room. Keith’s mouth envelops him, tongue grinding up against his cock and belly. He can feel every bump and nub of his tastebuds against his skin, feel the rough catch of Keith’s teeth on his ass, scraping and jostling his hips up to meet the bucking form of that tongue against him. 

“F’ee’fing… ‘ood?” Keith’s voice vibrates through his entire frame as he speaks, and if Shiro wasn’t already halfway too orgasm before, he definitely is now. 

“ _ Oh god… Oh god…” _ he moans, twisting in Keith’s embrace as hot breath puffs over him. “Please… do that again.”

“ ‘is?” Keith asks, and Shiro barely catches the way his eyes glint and lashes flicker down over them like twilight as he realizes what his voice is doing to the miniature man. In seconds he has his tongue laving all over Shiro’s chest and ass, humming away like a finely tuned truck. His whole mouth is suddenly a vibrator, and Shiro realizes once again he may be out of his depth like this. 

It’s  _ so much… _ Shiro can only rock up against Keith’s tongue and fight the rising heat coiling in his belly, hold on for dear life as Keith winds him tighter and tighter. He wants to come,  _ needs to come, needs to  _ find relief because this is all too much and he swears if Keith keeps at it his brain will be leaking out of his ears as come leaks from elsewhere. 

Keith’s tongue jabs deep into his asscheeks, working him harder, stroking and probing against the tight furl of his hole. He wants it… fuck he wants  _ something in there _ , but the sane part of him, the one steadily fading with each gasp and moan being milked from him knows there’s _ no fucking way _ it’ll fit. 

Keith’s still humming, voice low and throaty now, almost a purr as he keeps toying with him. Shiro feels his hips hiked higher as Keith smiles, sucking away as his ass with gusto, turning him over to press his cock directly against the top of his tongue and-

Shiro comes with a shout, orgasm wracking though his body as his cock spasms against the heat of Keith’s tongue. His ass bucks against the roof of Keith’s mouth, his vision blurring, body out of his control as he orgasms harder than he has in years. The sudden fit of climax has Keith startled, his lips falling open in shock and awe as Shiro continues to come across his lips, sliding out of Keith’s mouth and tumbling down his front, rolling and sliding bonelessly down to Keith’s navel where his body gives in to the last few shakes. 

“Holy shit…” Keith says quietly, a hand moving in gently to steady Shiro. He takes hold of it gratefully, trying to force the post-climax fog of a thousand year slumber from his head. “Holy shit Shiro… that was so hot…”

He blinks slowly, partially in disbelief at what they’d just done, but the sticky layer of saliva coating his ass and thighs was evidence enough it’d happened. His vision comes back into focus, balance still slightly off, but there’s no mistaking what’s waiting right in front of him. 

Keith’s cock, harder and redder than ever. 

This whole time… Keith’s been hard this whole time, reached  _ this point _ , just by eating him out. Shiro watches right before his eyes as a fat pearl of precome beads from the tip, on the verge of bursting before it breaks free and slowly oozes down the head.  _ Fuck… _ he wants it, and more than that, he wants Keith. Wants him just as messed up and wrung out as he is, wants him desperate and begging for release, wants him coming by his own hands, milking every last drop out of him. 

On jellied legs Shiro makes his way towards it. He ignores the little  _ ‘oh’ _ Keith makes, ignores the sweep of a hand trying to shake him off, telling him he doesn’t have to. 

He’s doing this, and he’s going to enjoy the fuck out of it. 

Propped up on his knees Shiro takes the dick in his arms, letting it smear against his skin along with sweat and spit. His hands rub up against the sensitive underside, hugging it to his chest as he ruts it against his abs and chest, working it against the sticky mess of his spent cock. Behind him he can hear Keith’s breath hitch, smiles as he begins to roll his hips up against the shaft, putting on a show from the back as he grinds up against Keith’s dick. 

Keith’s hard, no denying that, and close to completion. Shiro can tell by the way his voice is changing, the way his hands have fallen back, hips rolling up and fucking up into his arms to meet his every press and grind against it. He can feel Keith’s pulse mounting in the veins that run beneath his palms, see the way his balls draw closer and closer to his body with each passing second. But it’s not quite there yet, he needs more, needs to wind Keith so inextricably tight that he comes with the crash of thunder and light. Another drop of pre slips down, smearing over Shiro’s cheeks and lips, some of the bitter, salty liquid seeping in and onto his tongue. With a devilish grin and rush of strength to his legs, Shiro knows what that thing is. With a grunt and heave of his arm Shiro pulls himself up, wrapping one thigh around Keith’s cock to continue humping at it with wild abandon, the other steadying him as he brings himself head-to-head with Keith’s tip and leans in for the kill. 

The moment his tongue slides into Keith’s slit, he knows he’s won. Keith’s entire body bucks so violently Shiro’s nearly thrown off, two fists flying up to meet him and hold him there as he slobbers and tongue fucks any remaining reservations out of him. His face is covered in pre, cheeks shining, mouth full of cock and Keith as he works his magic, all while the other fucks him harder against his rod like another toy in a sleeve. Keith’s moaning, all but spouting gibberish as Shiro continues to worship as much of his dick with his mouth as possible. Fuck… he wishes he could have this all inside him, wishes it could be down his throat, choking him out, wishes it was burrowed inches deep inside him, fucking him up just as much as he was fucking Keith. 

It takes precious little time to take Keith from the edge to over it, and when he does, its with a rush that nearly has Shiro losing it to his third orgasm that night. 

Hot come erupts around his face, flooding his cheeks and continuing to spurt past them as they reach capacity. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, everything is white, Keith’s sperm splashing over him and spraying every inch of him outside of Keith’s fist. It’s in his hair, in his nose, dripping down his arms and chest and back as Keith crushes him against his spasming dick, screaming as he milks himself dry to the orgasm Shiro’s wrought out of him. It just keeps coming and coming, smearing over Shiro until he’s not sure where it ends and he begins, drop after drop clinging to every inch of his naked form. 

Only when Keith finally comes down does Shiro break away from his rapidly softening shaft, stumbling three steps away before collapsing in a come puddle on Keith’s stomach, gasping against the rapid rise and fall of the other’s chest. 

“That was…”

“Amazing…” Keith moans, trembling thumb coming up to wipe a swath of come out of Shiro’s eyes. “Holy shit… I didn’t know what you were capable of like this… holy hell…”

“You too…” he chuckles tiredly, bones suddenly feeling the exertion of everything they’d just done. “I could live on your tongue Keith… holy cow was that good…”

\-----

Somehow, they’d both nodded off, Shiro still spread out in the mess of Keith’s groin. He’d only woken as the final traces grew cold and sticky, rapidly hardening into his hair and Keith’s pubes. Despite the intense desire to remain exactly where they were, there was no denying it, they needed to get cleaned up. 

Which is where they found themselves now, spread out in the bathtub, Shiro draped over Keith’s sternum as they soaked away the worst of their debauchery. 

Keith lets out a hum of contentment, forefinger rubbing lazily up between Shiro’s thighs as he coaxes the last remaining traces of his come out of Shiro’s most intimate areas. 

“Would you be interested in that again?” he says, letting his fingerpad toy with Shiro’s ass. “I want to see what else you can do to me with you like this.”

“Fuck yes…” Shiro sighs, canting his hips higher so that Keith can reach even further between his legs. “And you… I’m getting to experience as much of that tongue of yours while I’m still like this, don’t even try to deny me.”

“Trust me, I won’t.” Keith stops his cleaning, hand settling over Shiro’s back and hugging him closer to his chest. “But does that mean… when you’re back to normal… this won’t be a thing anymore?”

Shiro has to hold back a puff of laughter, tugging himself up Keith’s chest until he’s able to plant a kiss right against the other’s chin. “It’d better not be,” he smiles, stroking the silvery outline of Keith’s scar. “When I’m back to normal, I’m riding that dick of yours properly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shiro gives good head no matter what his size is :p


End file.
